


Beloved Sons

by Professor_Maka



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: reverb 2015
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-16
Updated: 2015-07-16
Packaged: 2018-04-09 14:51:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4353056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Professor_Maka/pseuds/Professor_Maka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A year after the defeat of Asura, Death the Kid has an organization to run. Beset by administrative headaches and plagued by nightmares, the new Shinigami clings tightly to his friends, to the few people who help him find small patches of normalcy amidst the constant problems inherent in being a Deathgod. Yet with his friends about to graduate, he has difficult decisions to make and neither the heart nor will to make them.</p><p>Will Kid be able to face his fears and make the impossible choices ahead of him, or will he be forced to watch his nightmares become reality?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beloved Sons

**Author's Note:**

> So this is it, my first fiction written for Reverb 2015. I'd like to thank Showknight, my amazing partner, whose art and ideas are at the heart of this fic, as well as my betasquad, Bendy, K, Laura, Fab, Amanda, and Ness-your help made this so much better.
> 
> May it live up to the amazing art that inspired it-you can find that art integrated into the fic--enjoy!

 

He was in the darkness again, the voice rough and raw and echoing.

 

"You wished for this, fragment-no-longer. You wished for power, and now you are whole--but at what cost?"

 

He knew the cost, knew it all too well. His eyes flew open and the emptiness he had once mistaken for perfection vanished to reveal his own ceiling, faintly pink with the dawn light slipping in through his bedroom window.

 

"Everything," he whispered, voice sleep rough.

 

It was simple truth.

 

Death the Kid had ascended, had taken his father's place, had gained the power of a full fledged Reaper. He was a true Deathgod now. And yet, his godhood had cost him, would continue to cost him, everything that mattered.

 

And as they had every night since the battle on the moon, the dreams, the nightmares, would continue.

 

* * *

 

Staring down a pile of paperwork was hardly his idea of fun, but it was how he spent most mornings--reading through reports and files and memos from various agents and ambassadors and operatives. Kid missed the days when he could barely write his name on the top of an exam, missed what he couldn't have realized then was a carefree lack of accountability, of real responsibility. Now he was accountable to the world. Now he realized just how much his father had sheltered him. Now he had to attend to the open and festering wound that was the DWMA, the mess his father and brother had left behind.

 

Sighing deeply as he pushed aside yet another request from the temporary head of the Oceania branch for a Deathscythe-in-residence, Kid tried to forget how many decisions were looming ahead of him--frightening, stifling decisions. It had been nine months since his coronation, and he was still robbing Peter to pay Paul, still scrambling to keep things in order after the chaos wrought by Asura.

 

His friends kept him sane, provided him with small bits of normalcy he could savor amidst the mounting problems of bureaucracy, kept him from fretting over a misplaced thread when his mind was simply too frazzled to deal with things, and helped him realize how insignificant the minutiae really was when he did fret. He was a lot better than he used to be--a lot better. He'd come to realize that the small things, the wisps of chaos, the bits of interrupted symmetry, weren't worth his attention, and of late, he could keep his mind on the big picture with only an eye twitch of annoyance.

 

Most days, anyway.

 

Speaking of his friends, he was overdue to meet two of them in the training forest. Maka had a new technique she wanted to test, and he was one of the few people capable of offering useful feedback. For him, it would be a welcome distraction, and by the time he returned, Liz and Patti should have arrived to help keep his head on straight or to laugh at him when he couldn't. Well, Patti would laugh--Liz would huff and fret and try to force him into compliance.

 

They really were the best.

 

They were also about to graduate, not just Liz and Patti, but all of them, about to be out of school and into the world and he really, really didn't know how to proceed, what to do, because they were capable and talented and the world needed them desperately.

 

Then again, so did he.

 

Kid stood with another sigh, waving a hand to dismiss the desk--chair, paperwork, and all--into the nether space of the Death Room before striding along under the guillotines. The room had changed little since he had taken office; he'd had neither the heart nor the time to redecorate, and the constant reminder of his father was both cause and comfort, disease and cure.

 

Probably, he should alter it, make it his own. Probably, he should do a lot of things he couldn't.

 

It didn't take Kid long to reach the training forest and find the Last Death Scythe and his meister already resonating and using Witch-hunt Blade

 

For a moment, he simply watched. While the scythe was not usually a symmetrical weapon, the Witch-hunt Blade gave it a more symmetrical form, and the way the meister and her weapon worked as one was truly a wonder to behold. There was no other pair in Shibusen to rival the strength of resonance the two before him shared, and Kid wasn't certain there ever had been.

 

His thoughts were broken by Maka's approach. She must have noticed him, but while she had paused their training, she held their resonance stable, and Soul held his Witch-hunt form as she stopped a few feet from him.

 

"Thanks for coming, Kid. I know you're busy lately--"

 

"I'm never too busy for my friends." He dismissed her concern. "Aside from which, seeing that a Deathscythe and Deathmeister pair are able to reach their full potential is part of my active role as Shinigami."

 

Maka nodded slowly, but she was frowning at him, her eyes suddenly glassy. He knew that look, knew she was reading his soul, and cringed at what she might find.

 

"Are you okay?" she finally said. "Liz told me you hardly sleep. Even Deathgods need rest, Kid."

 

"I'm fine," he insisted, and he heard a snort from the weapon at her shoulder.

 

"Bullshit," he heard in a metallic half-cough, causing the scythe meister to glare at her scythe for a moment before turning her gaze back to Kid. "What? His damned shoes are untied. Death the Kid. Has his shoes untied."

 

She planted his blade in the soil behind them to quickly muffled protests, the Witch-hunt Blade still glowing with power, then looked back to Kid. "What Soul means to say is, we're worried. You've been--off, lately."

 

Kid heaved a small sigh as he bent down to see to his wayward shoelace, speaking into his knee. "Really, I'm fine. Normal administrative headaches, nothing to worry over."

 

If only that were true, but he couldn't tell them that--not yet. Because he had a decision to make and they were part of it, and he really, really didn't want to think about it.

 

Maka pursed her lips, scrutinizing him for a moment. "I know you're hiding something," she said finally. "We're here if you need us. Just--remember that. Being a god doesn't mean you're alone, you know?"

 

 

"Yes," he nodded. "I know. But it does mean I'm on a schedule. If you would?"

 

He gestured to the clearing behind them. Maka looked unhappy, but nonetheless pulled a grumbling Soul from the dirt and proceeded to show off their new technique, not quite oblivious to the coming storm.

 

* * *

 

It turned out Liz came in later than usual that morning, manicured and smelling like some new fragrance, Patti nowhere in sight. It gave Kid more opportunity to brood than he needed, but it had allowed him to come to a decision of sorts, and he now dreaded the meeting he would soon have to call with Maka.

 

Nonetheless, it was a decision that was long overdue, and he tried to make peace with the solution he'd devised. It was balanced, and he couldn't help but to be pleased with that aspect of it, even if the rest, the change and uncertainty, left his stomach in knots. Of course, he could have rid himself of such physical discomfort by choosing not to have a stomach at all at this point, but he preferred his human form to the wide range of options available to a full blooded  Reaper, and had changed it early on only to know that he could, and never since. Growing up confined to a mostly human body, he felt alien in anything else.

 

Liz was clacking her way over in too-high heels, and as she approached, Kid waved a hand absently to pull up the table and chairs he favored with most company, taking a seat and pouring their tea more out of habit than desire, his mind still fixated on the dark haze surrounding the decisions he had finally chosen to take out of his own hands.

 

She was wearing tight jeans and a red sweater today--no doubt meant to catch someone's eye, particularly given the red lipstick.

 

He raised an eyebrow. "You're late. And not dressed for class," the Reaper remarked casually. At this point, he cared little what his weapon did outside of the times he required her assistance--she needed to unwind, he knew that--but it was still mildly amusing to poke at her, and so, he did.

 

Liz shrugged. "We graduate next week. I figured Stein could spare me a few hours of beauty time."

 

"I doubt he noticed, frankly. He's been far too busy with Shelly to notice much of anything else."

 

"Nah, he notices," Liz said with an absent wave of the hand. "He just doesn't give a shit."

 

"Did Patti go with you on your little excursion?"

 

"Nah, Patti had her own shit to do."  
  
"Like go to class?" he put in smoothly.  
  
She laughed, a short bark. "Nah. Like go to the zoo and draw the animals. She's been doing a lot of drawing lately--she really enjoys it." The pistol took a sip of her tea, frowning into her cup for several moments, contemplative in a way that was rare and meant, in his experience, that she was worrying over something. "Actually, she's good, too. Like really good. And man, for all the tests on soul theory she's failed, she knows a ton about animals. You remember the last time we brought her to the zoo? She was practically lecturing the attendant about the lemurs."   
  
The smile on her face was proud, but also more sad than she would have allowed most people to see. That Liz let him to see it now spoke volumes--about the closeness of their partnership, but also about just how much her sister had been on her mind. Kid felt like his weapon was on the cusp of something, something she felt was vital, and he was suddenly afraid of what it meant. So much was about to change--most certainly for the worse--that the thought that something might change in his own partnership, that the relationships most vital to him were somehow about to shift, was almost crippling.   
  
He sucked in a deep, calming breath and quelled the urge to arrange the teacup she had just set down to sit more symmetrically with his own, tamping down his need to seize control of a situation he could sense was about to move beyond his grasp. He would let her say what was clearly plaguing her own mind--he owed her that. He owed her so much more than that.  
  
"I remember," he said after a short pause. "As I recall, she also made a lemur out of the program for demonstration purposes. It was really quite impressive."  
  
Liz hummed in response, taking another sip of her tea, and Kid looked up to stare into the flawlessly blue sky that was not really sky at all spread out above them. The one tiny change he had made was to remove the clouds, to will away their fluffy disarray and leave only pristine blue behind. Much as he found the blue expanse of perfection above him soothing, he sometimes missed the clouds. At least their lack of order, those small bits of chaos, gave him something mindless and unimportant to focus on when he couldn't handle the real chaos that constantly encroached on his carefully thought-out existence.   
  
"Really," she finally said after several languid sips of tea. "It's a shame she can't do something to develop that. Her talents are wasted as a weapon." Liz was tapping her freshly manicured fingernails on the table, her expression unreadable. "I can't help but to think she'd be happier doing something else--like I dragged her into this because I wanted better for her, but it only trapped her anyway, you know?"  
  
He sighed and stifled the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration because he'd never really considered that his weapons might not want to be his weapons, that they might be frustrated by their life at his side.    
  
Of course they might want more, might want to lead quieter lives, might even want marriage and children and normalcy. He should have considered that. A good, decent meister would have thought of such things long ago.  
  
Perhaps he was his father's son in the very ways he did not wish to be. The thought made him go cold.   
  
"Do you feel trapped?" he asked into the brief silence, causing her to blink her confusion at him for but an instant before shaking her head vigorously.   
  
"No--shit--no, I swear." She looked torn, unhappy. "I love being your weapon, I really do. Good pay, good benefits, plenty of down time, plus you actually respect us. You taking us in is the best thing that could have happened to us. But--" Ah, of course there was more. "That's me. I don't have any real talents--being a weapon is all I'm good at, if I'm honest. But Patti? Patti could do so many other things. I just want her to have that chance, I guess."  
  
Any relief her reassurances might have wrought was short lived. While knowing Liz wanted to be where she was meant a lot to him, knowing that he could lose Patti was nearly crippling. Not only was the thought of wielding only one weapon repulsive, but what was far more vital, he needed Patti, needed them both to keep him grounded, and the thought he could lose the eye of the constant storm his life had become was nearly too much to bear.  
  
Still, he owed them both so much, owed them both everything, and aside from obligation, Patti was important. Her happiness was important. If she needed a different life to find that, then she would have it, even if it would be akin to cutting off his own right arm.   
  
"You're right. Patti should have the chance to do more--you too, if you want it. I'll talk to the president of DCU and see about sending you both to school."  
  
The smile that lit up her face was absolutely stunning, but even that could not quell the ominous pit in his stomach, the feeling that his entire life was about to once again go to hell.

 

* * *

 

He couldn't sleep again for fear of another dream, so he was sitting in the massive screening room in the mansion he'd inherited from his father, on an overstuffed leather sofa, in his neatly pressed black cotton button-up pajamas, flipping idly through the channels. He knew he should just decide on one, or better yet, go to bed, but lethargy had settled deep within his bones and moving felt like too much effort.

 

Kid had been channel surfing for an interminable period when he saw a too-familiar face flash by just as he was flipping to the next channel and quickly went back, frowning up at the larger than life face on the oversized screen.

 

"--must be thrilled to be dressing so many Oscar nominees. Everyone who's anyone wanted to be seen in a Thompson original this year."

 

The camera angle switched to the young, tall, curvy blonde seated across from the handsome, dark haired man questioning her. It was, indeed, his weapon, wearing a sleek cream dress and looking impeccably put together. Somehow. Impossibly.

 

"Yes, absolutely, Mario! It's been less than a year since I started my label, so of course I was surprised--and thrilled--at that kind of attention." Her smile was bright and brilliant, though Kid knew her well enough to recognize it for the mask it was. Nonetheless, her presence on screen confused him. When had she...?

 

The screen cut back to the interviewer. "And is it true your sister helped with the designs for this year's originals?"

 

"Why not ask her that yourself?" Liz said, and this time her smile was genuine--the camera panned away to show Patti bounding in, as full of energy as ever, to launch herself into the empty seat next to her sister. There was wild audience applause and whistles, and Kid couldn't help but to notice the rather avant garde, low cut, short red dress she wore was eye twitchingly asymmetrical.

 

"Hey Mario, heya sis!" the younger pistol sang out, practically bouncing in her chair.

 

"Patricia Thomson, Ladies and Gentlemen! Welcome to the show," the host offered with a warm smile, the applause still thunderous. "So, Patti," he said as the audience finally fell into a hush. "You have very recently become a huge name in the art world--your sculptures are widely sought after. How does it feel to have had such a meteoric rise?"

 

What were his weapons doing? Fashion and art--when--?

 

"It's awesome!" Patti exclaimed, her enthusiasm practically maniacal. "I mean, I just get these crazy ideas and make things--the fact people are willing to throw money at me for that is--well, kind of ridiculous, but I'll take it." Her grin was wicked and a little wild, pure Patti.

 

Kid's frown deepened. Shouldn't they be home and not on some--

 

"And did you help with your sister's newest designs?" the host asked.

 

"Of course! Sis really wanted to do something special, so we came up with a few things together and--well, I'm sure people will be surprised." Her grin widened into something practically feral and Kid was suddenly very curious as to what they'd done. Nothing good had ever come of that particular grin.

 

"I have heard," the host lowered his voice, leaning forward conspiratorially. "That you two used to be the personal weapons of Lord Death himself, the very same weapons that were with him on the moon, and that the new Shinigami was unhappy with your departure."

 

What--?

 

The camera cut to Liz, who waved one polished hand dismissively. "Our association with Lord Death was brief and temporary. We are grateful for the stepping stone, but we never intended to act as weapons permanently. If our new Shinigami can't accept that, well, that's on him." Her smile was sharp and forced and slid between his ribs like a knife to the gut.

 

Departure. Stepping stone. Temporary?

 

"Wait--I don't understand," he whispered at the screen. Just yesterday, she'd said she loved being his weapon. Just yesterday--

 

Suddenly, from her place on the screen, Liz fixed her eyes straight on him. "That was yesterday, and I lied. I've always hated being your weapon, we both have, and I was thrilled to be out from under your thumb. Good riddance!"

 

"But--"

 

"Yeah!" The screen cut to Patti, who had both of her middle fingers extended his way. "Eat shit, Kiddo--we escaped--we don't need you. No one does! You're gonna be allll alone, just like your dad. Just like your brother. You're a manipulative monster just like both of them--so kiss my ass!"

 

She emphasized her point by standing on her chair and swinging her barely clad rear towards the camera, and Kid might have laughed at the absurdity of it all if he wasn't ready to cry, feeling betrayed, his despair nearly overwhelming.

 

They'd--escaped?

 

He wanted to scream, was about to when his eyes flew open, his body going rigid. He blinked at the television where the smiling face of a woman looking to sell beauty products stared back at him, unseeing. He then sought the souls of his weapons and found them right where they should be, deep in sleep in their own rooms.

 

A dream, he thought as he sat panting, the nausea running through him in waves all too real. Only another dream--another nightmare. They'd been getting more vivid, more specific, more real of late with so much uncertainty looming over him.

 

The only thing he really knew for certain at this point was that this nightmare would be far from his last.

 

* * *

 

The first thing he noticed, as she walked across the crowded restaurant in jeans and a green v-neck top, was that she had come alone as he'd asked. The second was that she was clearly seeking him not by sight but by soul, and the moment she found him she was put instantly on guard, his soul clearly shining with his own mixed feelings, his gross hesitation.

 

He had hoped to keep this casual--it was why he'd asked Maka to meet for dinner rather than report to the Death Room--but perhaps that had been a lost cause before it even began.

 

She slowed as she reached the private, high backed booth in the back of the restaurant, sandwiched between other such booths yet somehow still offering a feel of isolation, of intimacy.

 

Sliding in across from him with a smile he knew to be mostly perfunctory, she shook her head ruefully.

 

"Sorry I'm late. Soul insisted on dropping me off on the bike, so I had to change. You know how he gets." She rolled her eyes, but Kid well knew the gesture was far more fond than exasperated.

 

"It's not a problem," Kid waved away her concern. "And I do appreciate you coming. It's been awhile since we've had the chance to sit down together."

 

She nodded and smiled again, the gesture automatic but sincere. He could tell she was still subtly reading his soul--then again, he was reading hers as well. He chose that moment to break off his own soul perception and hoped she would do the same; this was meant to be a dinner between friends and colleagues, not some metaphysical game of chess.

 

"I took the liberty of asking for some water for you, and I ordered garlic bread to start, but feel free to make another selection--on me, of course."

 

"Garlic bread sounds good, thank you," she said as she looked over the menu, the server appearing to set the appetizer down between them as if on cue and asking if they were ready to order.

 

Kid ordered lobster ravioli--arranged symmetrically if you please--and Maka went with fettuccini alfredo. Neither bothered with drinks. As a full Shinigami, alcohol didn't affect Kid, and while the legal drinking age for Shibusen students in Death City was 16, Maka generally preferred to keep her head. The fact she forewent the wine was hardly surprising given how wary she already was of their purpose.

 

The young Lord Death would have preferred she indulge in a glass--it might have made this easier had she seemed a bit less on edge. As it was, they each handed their menus to the server primly, then pointedly took from the communal garlic bread.

 

It looked like it was going to be a chess match after all if he didn't diffuse the tension. Sometimes, he really wished he were better with people, that he knew the right words, knew just how to approach a situation to put others at ease. If their roles had been reversed, Maka would have already accomplished that. She'd always had a way with others, of gaining their trust, that was both rare and absolutely genuine.

 

"You know," the scythe meister said suddenly after swallowing her first bite of garlic bread, interrupting his train of thought. "Soul was a real baby about this. He thought we were going on a date, of all things." She laughed lightly, shaking her head. "I think he missed the memo that neither of us really date, and that I'm definitely not your type."

 

Kid smiled at the private joke--Maka was one of the few people who understood that he didn't have the same feelings of attraction most people did. He wasn't sure if it was a Shinigami thing or just a him thing, though he suspected the former. Whatever the case, Maka was well aware of the truth, and he played into their private understanding easily. "That would beg the assumption that I actually have a type."

 

She laughed again, shrugging. Of course she would be the one to ease the strange tension--he might have known. "Well, I suppose what Soul doesn't know only adds to our fun. I'm pretty sure he's hanging around nearby--" her eyes went glassy for a moment "--yep! Well, let him stew--serves him right for being so overprotective."

 

Frowning, Kid took a drink of his water, seeking her gaze over the glass. "And you suppose he is merely over-protective, then? That he fears the big bad Shinigami will break your heart?"

 

Maka pursed her lips in thought, her head tilting as she met his eyes. "Of course--what else would he be?"

 

So they still denied what had been obvious to him and most of their friends for years. He wasn't sure how that would play into her decision, but it really wasn't his place to disabuse her of her clear misconceptions about her weapon. In Kid's (admittedly limited) experience, it was generally better to let people work such things out for themselves.

 

"I suppose you would know better than I," he replied with a small shrug. "And in any case, I did ask you here for a purpose, as you seem to have guessed."

 

She nodded her agreement, taking a sip of her water, and he read that as permission enough to continue.

 

"With graduation looming on the horizon, I have had to consider placement for Spartoi, who represent the top tier talent that is desperately needed to fill leadership roles in the organization."

 

Another nod and small hum, her way of suggesting she was listening.

 

"As you are well aware, there are several positions that have traditionally been occupied by Deathscythes that have been vacant since before my father's passing. While an alternate classification and system will need to be implemented, and soon, there are currently two Deathscythes stationed here in Death City, along with a third as-yet unplaced Deathscythe--your weapon. You understand my dilemma, I'm sure."

 

She had the smallest frown on her face, more a measure of thoughtfulness than real displeasure, as she nodded her understanding and took another sip of water.

 

Steepling his fingers, an old nervous habit, Kid kept his gaze on his friend and tried to remind himself, as he had a thousand times since he had ascended, that sometimes as Shinigami, he had to make the tough choices. Choices that would hurt the people he loved. Choices that would hurt him as much as anyone. Taking a small breath, he continued.

 

"It is untenable for the organization to keep so many weapons of that caliber in one place. As such, upon his graduation, I'll be sending Soul to take Marie's old post in Oceania. It's a quieter outpost, ideal for a weapon learning the administrative ropes, I've been assured. Soul will thrive."

 

Now Maka looked--well, upset wasn’t the proper term. Concerned was more accurate, as her frown deepened, her eyes trained on his own like two lasers, seeking.

 

“If Soul is to be stationed in Oceania--that still leaves two Deathscythes in residence here, along with the Deathmeister they have largely shared of late.”

 

There was an unspoken implication that her placement was also left to discuss, and Kid realized she was leaving him an opening to get to the point--because he was speaking with her, not them, so obviously she must play into this somehow. Maka always had been perceptive and intelligent, not to mention personable. If she weren’t far too valuable as a meister, she would have made a good diplomat.

 

Those skills were what he was counting on here. Maka was fiercely loyal and fiercely protective of those she cared for, her weapon chief among them. Revealing his placement would have her mind working on overdrive, carefully considering, and hopefully, it would help her to make her choice--because Kid did want it to be her choice, though he had strong suspicions about which path she would choose.

 

“Ah, yes, where Stein is stationed, at this point, is contingent upon Marie. And where she is placed is going to be in your hands. As I said, I cannot have more than one Deathscythe in Death City or any single locale, but whether Marie remains or your father is contingent on your choice.”

 

“What do I have to do with their placement?” she asked, voice tight and even, eyes narrowed. She had abandoned her cup to grip the edge of the table.

 

Then again, Kid thought absently at the action, what might have hindered her career as a diplomat (if such a career truly were in her cards) were her strong tells--Maka was not good at deception.

 

“Your placement will decide their placement,” he finally revealed his hand. “And your placement will be your decision. You may choose to remain partnered with your current weapon, in which case you will be stationed as his Deathmeister in Oceania. You may also choose to remain in Death City, in which case you will be asked to assume teaching duties and work as the part-time Deathmeister for your father, the current Death Scythe.” Kid took an exaggerated sip of his own drink, leaving an opening for Maka to process and question. She would not need long.

 

“And these are my only options?” she asked instantly into the gap.

 

“Yes, if you intend to have a career with the DWMA, as you have long claimed to wish.”

 

She nodded, as if there could be no question, and really, there never had been one. Maka was a legacy child--this was what she knew, what she wanted, what she was good at. Like himself, it was in her blood, part of her soul.

 

In some ways, important ways, daughter of a Deathscythe and Deathmeister, the forger of her own Deathscythe and a soon-to-be true Deathmeister in her own right, Maka was as much like Kid as any human could ever hope to be. It was the foundation of what had become an important friendship in his life, and the thought of her being stationed as far off as Oceania was truly disconcerting--he valued her common sense, her intelligence, her sound advice, her unflagging support. And yet, these were the things that would make her so useful in running the far flung operations he had inherited, and he hated that duty had to come before friendship.

 

He could at least put friendship to the fore far enough to let her have the final choice.

 

“And how will my decision affect the placement of Death Scythe and Marie?” she asked slowly.

 

“Ah, yes,” Kid nodded, putting down his cup. “It’s simple, really. Should you choose to remain partnered with your weapon, I will need a meister capable of teaching Advanced Soul Perception stationed at the Academy, so Professor Stein will have to remain in Death City, placing Marie here as well. In that case, your father will be stationed at any open major outpost of his choosing.”

 

“Which means, if I choose to remain in Death City, Marie and Stein will be sent to an outpost," she commented immediately. It wasn’t a question.

 

“Exactly," Kid confirmed, and was saved from further talk for the moment by the arrival of their salads. They each thanked the server politely, and each turned their attention to the food in front of them, munching at now cooling bread and crisp, well-dressed lettuce.

 

Halfway through their salads, Maka put down her fork and looked across the table, waiting until Kid was done with his own bite to speak her mind.

 

“How long do I have to make my decision?” she asked, voice careful.

 

“Until graduation,” he replied instantly. She nodded at that and refocused on her salad, and he did the same. Soon enough, they began talking of other things, more pleasant things--graduation, celebrations, Academy gossip. Maka would come to him with her decision when she was ready, and for now, both would much rather enjoy the evening together.

 

While he could not be certain, Kid suspected it would be among their last for some time to come.

 

* * *

 

The clouds were heavy overhead, thick and dark with unshed moisture, casting the world into an odd grayscale. The air was almost as heavy, and Kid was sure the clouds would be disburdened soon enough, shedding their excess to cleanse the earth and soak them all through.

 

He tried frantically to remember why he was here, but the truth eluded him as he approached the graveside--he'd seen so much death in his young existence, but to know that one more of their own was lost to the world pained him. He wondered silently who lay in the brightly polished ashwood box yet to be lowered into the ground, and cursed himself for being so caught up in all the red tape of his position that he'd let slip something so vital.

 

That it was someone well known and just as well loved was clear by the throng surrounding the graveside, bright eyed and solemn and dressed in light, bright colors.

 

Well, all but one. Kid noticed a lone figure brooding in the distance, caught a mop of white hair over a dark suit, and wondered why the Last Death Scythe was without his meister.

 

And then he heard an ear shattering wail, saw a tall, red-haired figure draped carelessly over polished ash, and with heart wrenching clarity, he knew.

 

It couldn't be. He would have known, would have--

 

It couldn't be.

 

Surely the meister who had defeated Arachne, who had helped contain Asura, who had forged the Last Death Scythe, couldn't fall. Her weapon would never let her fall, would sooner die himself.

 

The Reaper quickened his steps, needing to see the gravestone obscured by a wreath of bright flowers, ignoring the states of Spartoi, of the Academy teachers, of his own weapons as he passed.

 

He must be mistaken. He needed to be mistaken.

 

His mind felt like it was filled with quicksand, reality slipping and tilting as he approached the marble grave marker. What had she chosen? He couldn't remember. Had she abandoned her weapon? Had she--

 

Reaching the marker, the eyes of all onlookers trained on him silently, eerily empty, Kid lifted some flowers to read the name they obscured:

 

Maka Albarn

 

Three star Deathmeister.

 

Beloved daughter and friend.

 

He suppressed a shriek knowing it was his fault, knowing his choice must have gotten her killed, knowing the world would never be the same without her light, that none of them would be.

 

Her weapon--Father help her weapon for he could not--the sheer despair of his soul was suddenly clear within his mind.

 

There was a growl, low and animal, in the distance, and Kid lifted glassy eyes to see a deathweapon, her deathweapon, rushing at him, the crowd parting as he went.

 

"You!" the young scythe screamed as he ran. The weapon soon reached the Deathgod he sought, the rage and pain a grotesque mask on his face, one of his closest friends made monster by his grief. He had beaten the black blood, and yet, the Last Death Scythe could not beat this. "You fucking killed her! It was you!"

 

Kid didn't even try to defend himself against the onrushing blade as his world went black.

 

He bolted upright, the cold sweat on his forehead streaming into his eyes, sharp and stinging. He wiped it away with the back of one hand, his breath coming in short gasps in the shadowed room.

 

A dream. It was a dream. Of course. Of course.

 

The decision he had made, that Maka had yet to make, weighed heavily on his soul, the feeling that no matter what choice she made, it would be the wrong one nearly overwhelming.

 

All he wanted was to keep his friends safe and near even as he kept that balance so vital to the world, yet the reality was that not even a god could accomplish such a task. He'd left the choice to her, trusting her to choose her own path.

 

And yet, was it really much of a choice at all? Lose her father or lose her weapon--either way, she would be missing something important, something vital.

 

That was the reality that now faced them all; he couldn't keep his family together anymore, the friends who had come to mean everything, and it hurt.

 

Because as much as he needed his friends, the world needed them more, and there was no way to ensure that they would remain safe and whole, not Maka, not any of them. All he could do was allow them to walk their own paths and hope, if it came down to it, that he would be able to help them in time if it led them over a cliff.

 

* * *

 

The whole thing had been Liz's idea--as the most trying affairs often were.

 

When Kid had told her the morning before that he'd made arrangements for their admittance to Death City University, Liz insisted that Patti might absorb the idea best somewhere she felt comfortable--somewhere that felt like her home turf rather than theirs--aside from which, the three of them hadn't spent any of their leisure hours together in some time. And thus, the idea of a miniature golf excursion was born.

 

Of course it had to be miniature golf, the most asymmetrical psuedosport known to man or Deathgod--Liz had a knack for forcing him out of his comfort zone. Sometimes, he was even grateful for that, but as he eyed the lopsided castle obstacle on the 8th hole with a shudder (the 8th--asymmetrical--blasphemy!) Kid decided that now was not one of those times as he stifled the urge to level the offending cheap plaster artifact into dust with his bare hands.

 

It was red and black and adorned with Shinigami skulls in a way that was both familiar and completely wrong. He wanted to end its offensive existence.

 

Instead, he gripped his ridiculously small, obnoxiously pink handled golf club more tightly, knuckles white, as he tried to focus on how best to achieve the goal of hitting the equally bright pink ball on the ground below him into the hole beyond the mock medieval monstrosity that was screaming--no begging--for his tender mercies, the sweet relief, the painful retribution that only a true Deathgod could bring.

 

Calculating how to bounce the ball off the walls of the course precisely 8 times to achieve the desired outcome of landing in the center of the plastic hole several yards away, Kid finally began his swing, and was startled by a loud "BOO!" in his ear into swinging erratically at the last second, causing his round pink talisman of failure to shoot down the fake, blood red astroturf and off the far wall to settle near the hole, but definitely not inside. He spun around, nearly hissing, to glare at Patti, who was whistling innocently near him.

 

"What in Father's name--"

 

"All's fair in love and golf, Kiddo!" she practically sang out as she walked over and set her own eye searingly neon yellow ball down happily.

 

 

Kid didn't even so much as scowl as he moved out of her way--when it came to Patti, it was best to know when to let things go, and when it came to Patti and something she took as seriously as minigolf, it was best to simply let anything and everything go.

 

Even if that did mean his 8 ricochet hole in one had been sabotaged. Well, at least he could get it in in 8 strokes. That had to count for something.

 

Losing at minigolf was nothing new, after all.

 

He watched her execute her absurd golfing stance, rear end sticking out comically in her cutoff shorts, club on her shoulder like a baseball bat (ironic considering the DC Reapers jersey she was currently sporting) before she chopped her swing down to make contact with the ball, sending it flying across the carmine carpet to land precisely in the center of the hole, swish, not even grazing the rim.

 

Patti let out an ear splitting whoop, followed by an exaggerated fist pump as she skipped away from the hole to stand with Kid and let her sister take her turn.

 

Eying the wide grin of his younger weapon, the Reaper decided now was probably the time to bring up their purpose, since she was flying high with her current success. Liz had suggested that because she herself had no interest in attending the University, that Patti might be the slightest bit hesitant about the proposal, so it would be best to strike when her mood was high.

 

"So, I do have some news," he said, clearing his throat slightly to assure he had her attention as Liz eyeballed the course and calculated her move. Patti turned her wide blue eyes fully on him and blinked, clearly surprised at such a serious segue amidst the (in his mind) dubious pleasures of putt putt.

 

"Are you gonna tell me that I'm about to pound your Reaper ass into the astroturf? Cause that ain't news, Kiddo. That's just plain fact, amiright?" She was grinning maniacally at her own joke and he shrugged.

 

A few feet away, there was the click of club hitting plastic, and both of them swiveled their eyes to watch Liz's blazing blue ball careen straight into a trap, going through a tube, through the castle, and far past the hole into an offshoot.

 

"Aw, crap," she cursed, causing her sister to snicker as Liz hauled her blue handled club up onto her shoulder and sashayed over in a swishy red dress that would have been as at home in a nightclub as it was during family fun time.

 

Turning his attention back to Patti, Kid again attempted to introduce his purpose. "Yes, well, clearly your rather--innovative strategy--has carried the day, as usual," he said sagely. "But actually, what I was going to suggest--"

 

"Kid got you placed at DCU," Liz cut him off as she neared, clearly impatient in her enthusiasm and seeing an opportune moment to strike. "Full scholarship courtesy of the DWMA. Isn't that awesome? You can be something!"

 

Suddenly, the younger pistol's mouth was a thin line, all triumphant glee vanished into her sister's enthusiasm as she looked between the two of them.

 

"But I am something," she said after a small pause, face eerily thoughtful. "I'm the weapon of a Reaper--and I'm your sister."

 

"And that's great, really, but now you can do anything!" Liz beamed. "You never really had a choice about--" she waved a hand towards Kid "--this--right? But now? Now the sky's the limit! You can do whatever you want!"

 

Patti's lips pushed down into a decided frown, a rare motion, as she met her sister's giddy gaze. "But Sis, I'm already doing what I want. I love being Kiddo's weapon. I don't want--"

 

"You can major in biology--or--or art!" Liz's giddiness had turned to something like desperation, and Kid wasn't sure if he should intervene. This seemed like something between sisters, a matter to be settled among family, and he suddenly felt like an outsider amongst them in a way that hadn't happened since early in their partnership, a feeling both familiar and foreign. He was surprised at how painful it was, so many years later.

 

"You love making projects!" Liz continued. "Coloring and painting and paper mâché and---and origami!--and you're so good at it, even though no one ever taught you how to do it," her voice was almost painfully high and bright now as Patti's frown deepened, as her head began to shake back and forth in negation. The tall blonde grabbed her sister's hands, clutching them tightly in her now clearly forced enthusiasm. "Think what you could do with proper schooling! You could--"

 

"No, Sis!" the younger girl exclaimed as she ripped her hands from her sister's grasp. "I've already had proper schooling--went to school to be a weapon and, guess what, that's what I am--so I don't wanna go to art school or whatever--I want to stay with you and Kiddo!"

 

"Patti--" Liz reached out a hand, crestfallen. "I--I mean, you--"

 

It was time to intervene; this might be a family matter, he reminded himself, but he had long since considered them family.

 

"Elizabeth, Patricia," he interrupted, and his use of their given names had two pairs of piercing blue eyes swiveling in his direction instantly. "Perhaps you might think further on this, Patti, and give me a final answer in a few days? It would give you time to read through some of the materials the university president sent along. I could even arrange for a tour of the campus--it is quite lovely, and only 40 minutes outside of the city."

 

"But--" she began, arms folded over her chest defensively.

 

"And whatever choice you finally make, we will support, isn't that right, Liz?"

 

For her part, Liz looked about to protest, but Kid never gave her the chance.

 

"We just want you to make the most informed possible choice," he finished, voice firm in a way that bordered on commanding. "Now, then, I believe it's my turn. Eight stroke here I come!"

 

He heard a snicker at that he ignored, relieved that Patti was still enough herself to snicker at all, and hoped they could finish the excursion in peace before he headed back to Shibusen to deal with the latest mound of mounting paperwork, his trusted weapons still firmly by his side.

 

For now.

 

* * *

  


To find himself in the darkness, in the void yet again, could not surprise him. Once he had found its limitless expanse, its empty perfection, its cold vacancy a comfort. Now, it left him cold himself, spoke to his fears of losing everything, of losing everyone.

 

“But you are going to lose them; it’s inevitable. You are Shinigami, deathless, and they are but brief points of light in your dark and yawning lifespan. They will all leave you sooner or later, and very likely sooner. Such is the lot of those who would place the world on their shoulders, of those whom you command like puppets, dancing to the tune you set.”

 

As always, the voice was raw and rough, yet somehow as vast and empty as the void itself. He shuddered as it seemed to pass through him, to seek his cracks, to invade and conquer with insidious words and yet more insidious fears.

 

“They make their own choices, always,” Kid said into the pitch, the echo of his voice unnerving in the void.

 

“So you would claim, fragment-no-longer, yet, still, you remain the man behind the curtain. You tell yourself you offer choices, but what choice did you give your friend? Between sire or soulmate--she will torment herself over her decision, doubtless, but in the end, you knew there was only one choice she could make. To suggest otherwise is to lie to your own soul, but such a lie will always see light. You are your father’s son, whether you will or no.”

 

“No!” Kid spat, shaking his head vehemently. “I have learned from my father’s mistakes. He did what he thought right, but he was blind to much. I--”

 

“--will lead many to their deaths, as he did.” There was a shimmer in the void, and suddenly, a mirror appeared, large and looming. Images of his friends flashed by, of his weapons, of Spartoi, laughing, celebrating, and then--

 

Dying.

 

The view of the mirror suddenly panned to bodies on the ground, soil blood-dark. Ox and Harvar lay sprawled together, white Spartoi uniforms soaked red, eyes glassy and unseeing as they pointed to the cold, star filled sky. Then Kim and Jackie, hand in hand--Kilik cradling his blood spattered weapons in death as he had in life--Black*Star collapsed atop Tsubaki as if he had died in her defense--Soul and Maka in each other’s arms in death as they had never been in life, clutching tightly, clothes singed and tattered--and, finally, two figures he knew all too well, hair red and slick. Liz was sprawled atop Patti, glassy eyes bright with accusation.

 

“No,” Kid whispered. “This--No!” he commanded.

 

“But you are your father’s son,” the voice insisted, unrelenting. The mirror image blurred, shifted, reformed.

 

He saw his reflection, wearing his robes, the endless dark spread out behind him like a veil of perfection. He was eerily bright in the darkness, the single point of light and life. Then the image in front of him donned his mask, the Shinigami mask, and Kid felt his blood freeze in his veins.

 

The image in the mirror was him--but it was his father as well.

 

Then there was another figure standing beside the Shinigami in the mirror--him yet his father yet him--fuzzy but sharpening into focus--a shape he also knew well.

 

It was Maka.

 

“You are your father’s son,” she accused, mouth a thin line of disapproval.

 

“No,” he shook his head even as his image in the mirror nodded. “I’m--”

 

A voice appeared at his shoulder, barely a whisper, yet achingly familiar.

 

“You are your father’s son,” she whispered, and Kid shuddered as he shifted his eyes to catch a glimpse of Liz leaned over him ominously.

 

He shook his head again, looked away from the cold, dead eyes of his weapon.

 

“You are your father’s son,” she said louder.

 

“You are your father’s son,” Maka echoed.

 

“You are your father’s son,” they chanted together.

 

There was blood running down their faces now, blood running down the Shinigami mask in the mirror, blood running through his vision, blood everywhere. The world was red, red, red.

 

He screamed and screamed, the blood thick and vile.

 

And just before his vision went black, just before the faint light of dawn greeted him as he bolted upright, the darkness whispered a final time in his mind.

 

“You are your father’s son. And like him, you will lose everything.”

 

* * *

 

Running into Maka in the halls of Shibusen two days later was sheer chance. It was Thursday of their last week, Finals Week, and she had a stack of books in her arms as she made her way to the library to study for her last exam the following day. Her weapon was nowhere to be found--the scythe never had been overly fond of studying.

 

Kid offered to help her carry the comically oversized stack (the library was on the way to the Death Room anyway,) and she reluctantly accepted. After the books were divided, they walked in silence for several minutes before Maka hummed thoughtfully.

 

His heart froze in anticipation. Was she finally going to reveal the choice she had made? It had been several days, far longer than he'd ever expected she'd need, and still she had said nothing.

 

"Liz said you still aren't sleeping," she began and he let out a breath. "She's worried."

 

"Yes, well, for as many times as I've tried to explain that Shinigami do not technically require sleep, she still fails to truly grasp the concept," he said drily, irritation seeping into his tone unbidden. Liz was worried over her sister-- fretting really--and projecting that onto him was a coping mechanism, when what would have been more prudent was an honest conversation. In truth, the elder pistol had spent a lot of time extolling her sister about the benefits of a college education, and no time actually listening to the other woman, and the resultant rift had both sisters in knots.

 

He was no less in knots, wondering if he had caused this, wondering if he had trapped them. He was also fretting, in his way, but he would not burden them with his guilt, his sin. Patti might need to understand why this was so important to her sister--something he only just grasped at the tail of--but she also needed space to make her choice.

 

So Kid did his version of fretting in silence, sleeping little as his nightmares continued to haunt him.

 

Maka had yet to respond, her eyes ahead of her, her expression thoughtful as she finally broke their renewed silence.

 

"Required, no," she said slowly, "but it is still important for your mental health, Reaper or not. You need to take care of yourself if you want to take care of anything. You remember how much Sid always emphasized that a sound soul--"

 

"Dwells within a sound mind and a sound body, yes," he finished with a sigh. "I am sleeping, but not well, I admit. You know how busy things are at the end of the school year. It'll improve soon enough, I assure you."

 

She frowned at him before nodding slowly.

 

"Well, if there's anything I can do--" she offered, and he seized on it because her looming choice had plagued him.

 

"Actually, I was wondering if you had decided on your post. I don't want to rush you, but I was hoping to have assignments worked out and arrangements begun before commencement on Sunday."

 

Her frown deepened, though she nodded again.

 

"There's still--someone I need to talk to, but I'll have your answer tomorrow, I promise. Is that soon enough?" Her tone had gone from concern to businesslike so quickly it might have had his head spinning were he not used to her quick shifts--and Patti's even more erratic ones.

 

"Of course." He nodded as they reached the library and she pushed open one of the large double doors with her back before he could get to them. He followed her to a large table, setting down his half of her stack.  She then thanked him for the help with a genuine smile before seating herself to study, effectively dismissing him.

 

Maka Albarn never had been timid, and his ascension to full godhood had failed to change her behavior towards him one iota, a fact for which he was mostly grateful--though there were times, like now, with this decision, that he wished she were just a bit more in awe if it would speed her choice.

 

It would certainly make him far less anxious if things were more settled.

 

Still, he had learned long ago the lesson, cemented by the demise of his father, that one really could not have their proverbial cake and eat it too, and so, contented himself that it would all be decided soon enough.

 

* * *

 

Not twenty minutes later, Kid found himself seated at his desk in the Death Room, fingers drumming restlessly, when an exuberant Patti burst in, dragging her clearly reluctant sister by the elbow none-too-gently.

 

He'd been brooding again. While most of Spartoi had come to him to request placement some time ago, their futures settled, Maka and Soul still had yet to be assigned. Many days had passed since his dinner with Maka, and the choice he had expected to be instant loomed ahead of them like a dark shadow. Her need to speak with someone felt ominous, and he couldn't help but to wonder if he really understood her after all. Perhaps her choice would be different than he'd initially thought, and that settled in the pit of his stomach like a stone as his weapons burst into the room.

 

The distraction was most welcome; he really did adore them.

 

“So, Kiddo,” Patti began as she finished dragging her sister in and sat smack on top of his desk, heedless of her short skirt-clad bottom being nearly in his face as she twisted over her shoulder to address him. Liz had leaned on the other side of the desk and was currently inspecting her glossy red manicure in a way that suggested she was less than pleased.

 

“I take it you’ve decided?” Kid said slowly as he looked between the sisters. They were wearing their school girl uniforms, perhaps as a last nod to their final days at the academy, though he suspected in Liz’s case it was a last excuse to show off her long, slender legs to all and sundry.

 

“Yup!” Patti sang out. “I’m going to remain your weapon--and go to school!”

 

“That’s not--” Kid shook his head, somewhat confused. DCU was a good forty minutes away, and classes would take up most of her time. She really wouldn’t be able to act as a proper weapon for a Deathgod under those conditions.

 

“Sis and I came to a--” she seemed to consider her next word carefully, a rarity “--compromise. I stay with you and Sis, but I’ll take a class or two a semester at the downtown branch of DCU. They offer a lot of art classes.” She sported a wide grin at that, and her giddiness triggered a fond smile and headshake from her sister.

 

“Yeah, Pat seems to think it’s more fun to hang around us than to party every weekend on campus.” She rolled her eyes as if such a thought were a blasphemy, but her fond smile remained.

 

Kid only blinked at such an elegant solution to what had seemed an impossible situation--he should have thought of it, he really should have. Sometimes he forgot just how intelligent Patti was when she had a mind to be.

 

“Are you--quite sure?” he finally managed, hope swelling, because to not lose her as a weapon, yet still allow her to branch out and explore other things seemed like an oasis, a mirage, like truly having more than could possibly be allowed.

 

“Yep!” she exclaimed happily, hopping off the desk in her sheer enthusiasm to bounce on the balls of her feet. “I wanna be with you and Sis--being your weapon is awesome--Bang Bang Bang!” she shouted, aiming her fingers formed into a gun shape around the room randomly. “But it could be fun to take a few classes, so this is great, right?”

 

She was beaming, and he smiled back and nodded. “Absolutely.”

 

Liz sighed, but did not protest--it was ultimately not her choice and she knew it. Patti bounded over and tugged her sister towards the back of Kid’s chair, finally enveloping both in a group hug.

 

“The three amigos, together for the long haul!”

 

It felt good. It felt nice, to keep his weapons near, to keep his family near, but he didn’t want to hold them back, to cling to them selfishly.

 

“I’m glad you’ve chosen to remain,” he said as they both stood and he stood as well. “But you may someday wish to leave, and--”

 

Patti frowned at that, looking thoughtful, the very gesture cutting off his words.

 

“You’re right,” she said finally. “Maybe, someday, I won’t be your weapon. Maybe, someday, we won’t be together all the time--but you know? It’ll be okay. Even when you aren’t my meister, you’ll always be my friend, even when we can’t spend time together every day, you and Sis are always with me, right in here.” She tapped her heart meaningfully. “When you were in the Book? You were still here.” She smiled, then, a wide, beautiful smile. “Nothing can take you from me, you or Sis or any of our friends. So yeah, maybe someday things will change, and if they do that’s okay, too, but right now, I’m happy to be a family.”

 

When had she grown so wise? Kid beamed and hugged her on impulse, murmuring, “You’re right.”

 

“‘Course, I’m always right,” she laughed as she skipped away, and maybe she really was, at that.

 

Kid’s heart felt lighter as they decided to get some lunch, and he tried to forget the shadow that yet loomed, that there was still a choice to be made, still more family he would surely lose in the very near future.

 

* * *

 

The laughing sun was unnaturally bright overhead as it peered down upon the misery it wrought below, the clear blue sky shimmering with the heat it radiated, unrelenting. It was a typical desert afternoon except for a heaviness in the air he couldn't place, couldn't name, but that was choking, stifling as he adjusted his black suit while he walked, the path he strode all too familiar.

 

Hook Cemetery.

 

Another funeral.

 

Another colleague dead, another person who had trusted him, relied upon his judgment as Shinigami he'd let down.

 

Who was it this time? The fact he couldn't quite recall troubled him, as did the two coffins looming in the distance. Two coffins, two deaths--meister and weapon, then.

 

It happened far too often.

 

Oddly, the cemetery was deserted but for him and the two polished coffins he was approaching, decked with blossoms and perched just over two freshly dug pits in the earth, side by side. They appeared to share a single grave marker, as was common for a weapon and meister pair felled together in battle.

 

Yet another marker of his failure.

 

Had he missed the funeral? His suit was stifling in the swelter of the Nevada sun, and he tugged at the collar unhappily. Perhaps a Shinigami couldn't suffer heat stroke, but that didn't mean he couldn't feel discomfort, and he was pretty damned uncomfortable at this point.

 

He wanted to shed his immaculately tailored jacket, to feel a layer closer to the air, but dared not. Already clearly too late, he would not disrespect the dead or their families any further by looking anything less than pristine.

 

At least he could still pay his respects in private.

 

Nearing the coffins, he tried to discover the identity of the deceased through their shared stone without luck--it was blank, yet to be worked by the stonecarver's hand.

 

The idea that he did not know who or how still plagued him.

 

It also felt eerily familiar in a way that ran deeper than simply the cemetery or the situation, that he felt soul deep, and it sent an involuntary shudder of apprehension through him.

 

He needed to know who was in those coffins.

 

He needed to know who he had sent to their ends.

 

He needed to know.

 

Running his slim, pale hand along the surface of the first coffin, he began to lift the lid, heavy with its floral shroud, catching a glimpse inside.

 

Shocked at what he found he lifted it higher, let the living ornaments fall heavily to the fresh soil.

 

Empty.

 

He turned quickly to the second coffin, opened it wide, equally heedless of the flowers.

 

Also empty.

 

He shook his head, panicked, distraught, clenched his fists.

 

Who and how.

 

He had to know.

 

He must know.

 

"B...But you already know," a voice at his shoulder answered the thought he hadn't realized he'd voiced, and he whirled around to face the last person he would have expected to see alive.

 

"I--how..?" he stammered at the thin, lavender haired figure standing placidly before him. "You--you're--" he glanced helplessly towards the sky then back.

 

"Th-they died trying to protect each other, you know--th--there was a Phoenix Witch, and her--her flame was too much. They each t--tried to get the other to run, but they're both so-so stubborn, neither would. So when their w-world went up in flame, they h-held on to each other tight. All that was l-left was ash."

 

Kid shook his head, confused by the presence of one long lost, confused by the tale, confused by it all.

 

He managed to force out one word--"who"--before simply shaking his head again.

 

"I s-said you already know. You were the one who sent them to an--outpost a-alone--there was no one there to h-help, not really."

 

Their words were sharp, but their face was serene as Kid whispered the names of his friends.

 

Soul. Maka.

 

He had failed them.

 

"But--but you,"' the young Shinigami raised his eyes to the other meister. "How are you here? Why are you here?"

 

He could feel the sun's laughter beating down on him in waves of sickening heat as he clenched his fist tighter.

 

"Me?" Crona blinked. "I'm just the one you abandoned to your father's sins--just another person you failed."

 

Crona's voice warped, the echo of the Great Old One mixing and distorting.

 

"You are your father's son," they said with a cruel smile, far more their mother than Kid had ever realized possible, before he bolted upright in his bed, his room pitch dark, his heart still beating wildly in his chest.

 

Maka hadn't chosen, not yet, but he still feared that either choice would be the wrong one, and in the end, that would be his sin to bear.

 

* * *

 

The feeling of déjà vu was strong as two figures came before the final day of school would officially begin that morning, one dragging the other reluctantly by the elbow, determination writ large on her face.

 

Maka Albarn had made a promise, and Maka Albarn kept her promises.

 

Her weapon looked nervous and reluctant as they stopped in front of his desk, eyes scanning the large netherspace before settling on Kid. If he was here as well, his meister must have told him of his post--one less person to inform, he supposed.

 

"Where's Death Scythe?" he asked too casually, the habitual look of boredom that quickly settled over his face a clear mask, one the Reaper had learned to read past long ago.

 

Kid shrugged. "He's never in this early, and spends more time in his office than here in any case. I also would not be sharing any new--developments--with him until late in the day."

 

"Ah," was all the white haired weapon replied with a nod as he straightened his Spartoi jacket, then took his meister's hand. Maka nodded once as she looked at Kid, her own hand clearly gripping her partner's back tightly.

 

She inhaled deeply, her expression firm, then spoke. "I've made my choice."

 

"Ah, excellent, I'll just--" Kid stood--ready to call up his tea table--but Maka shook her head.

 

Knowing him well enough to predict his next action, Maka preempted it. "This is an answer from a Deathmeister to the Shinigami--the tea can come later."

 

"Very well," he nodded. It stung a little, to have her put this veil of formality between them, one he'd struggled so hard to lift with the few he called friends, but he also understood her need to feel that this was between Deathgod and meister, not friend and friend.

 

Sitting back down, he laced his fingers together in front of him on the desk and waited for one of his oldest friends to speak her mind.

 

"Please, Maka--I am ready to hear your decision."

 

Another nod, another squeeze of her weapon's hand, a brush of imaginary dust off her Spartoi skirt, and her eyes focused back on him. "As you might have surmised, I wish to remain partnered with Soul as his Deathmeister."

 

Kid nodded, about to express his approval of her choice, when she raised a hand to signal she wasn't yet through.

 

"However, we will not take the post in Oceania. Instead, since you indicated outplaced Deathscythes would be given their choice of assignments, we would prefer to be stationed at the European branch. I--" she looked to her scythe, who smiled back, the barest quirk of the lips, "I mean, we feel that it is better suited to our talents, but wherever we are to be placed, we would like to stay together as partners. Indefinitely."

 

Kid nodded slowly. In truth, Oceania had been suggested to him as a good first assignment by Marie, but Europe was a busier post and would benefit from the field experience of the pair. "Very well," he said finally. He could see no reason to deny the request and several to make it the better choice.

 

"Might I also suggest that my Pa--that Death Scythe might be best suited to take over the Russian office? It's a post that lends support to both Asia and Europe, and is very active. His experience would be an asset."

 

"And he would also be closer to the European branch, of course," Kid added with a knowing smile, earning a small shrug from the other meister. "Very well, if Death Scythe is amenable, then I have no objection."

 

Maka smiled at his words, squeezing her weapon's hand again, and Kid couldn't help but admire such a well thought out choice. Oceania was relatively isolated, but Europe was not only a central location with a good deal of activity, but the DWMA branch there was in Paris, a cultural center with a lively music, art, and intellectual scene. He suspected the choice was predicated partially on that scene, where her weapon could potentially continue his small forays into the music world, but also on the proximity to the Russian outpost, where her father would be far closer at hand than he could be anywhere else. In all, it was a far more elegant solution to the issue than he had come up with, as neat in its way as Patti's choice, and he couldn't help but to feel a warmth in his chest that his trust in his friends was so well placed.

 

Even still, he should be sure this was a joint decision--it was his place as Shinigami--so he turned his attention to the scythe before him. "And this decision is amenable to you as well?" His eyes shifted to the young Deathscythe at her side, who nodded his ascent.

 

"Truthfully? If Maka weren't going with me, I wouldn't have taken a post at all." He shrugged, not sounding the least bit apologetic.

 

Not taken a post? It was a concept a Death Child like himself had difficulty with. To not take the post--would be to refuse an order, to leave the Academy.

 

And yet, he could--anyone could leave at any time, Kid knew that. People left, as he’d tried to convince his own weapon to do. Just not usually Deathscythes. Even still, even Deathscythes had a choice. They all did, in the end.

 

Maka and Soul had made their choice, and he could feel their contentment with that choice radiating from them.

 

"Well then, I am happy that it has worked out this way." His smile was genuine as he stood, and Maka's equally genuine smile soothed his fears, long built. He felt relief flood him. Yes, their choice had been made, and somewhere in his soul, he knew it was for the best, just as it had been best to place the decision in her hands. What the future held was beyond his knowledge, even as a Deathgod, but this--here--in this moment--felt right. "Now might we celebrate over tea?" He raised an eyebrow and Maka laughed.

 

"Yes, tea sounds wonderful."

 

And it really did.

 

* * *

 

Darkness. Inky black, neverending, cold. How many times had he been here in his mind since the Book? How many times had the Nameless Old One haunted him, taunted him?

 

He didn’t know. Dozens. Hundreds, maybe. Too often.

 

Kid was really very tired of this dream.

 

How long he was floating, weightless, alone, he couldn’t say. It seemed too long, like instead of a dream he had found the true void, a living nightmare returned. It wasn’t, and he knew it wasn’t. He told himself that truth over and over again in his mind.

 

A dream, a dream, a dream.

 

A nightmare.

 

He was tired of the nightmares most of all.

 

“Not nightmares,” the Old One’s voice echoed in his head, through his bones. “Truth.”

 

“No,” Kid spoke aloud, shaking his head. “Not truth--fear. But we conquered fear once, and we will do it as many times as we must.”

 

“You mean you will use others to conquer it, don’t you? But you throw their lives away in vain. Or did you not hear your own flesh and bone and soul when he spoke that truth to you? Your very own brother, the manifestation of your father’s many sins?” The rough chill of the voice sent a shiver through him, but he would not waver.

 

“It was truth, yet not, as are so many things. There is no black or white, but both, always, and the balance lies somewhere in between. Fear--there is always fear, yes. But there is also courage. There is no one truth, but there are many versions of wisdom.”

 

“Such moral equivocation will not hide your fault. It cannot change your truth. You are the Shinigami, your father’s son. You are the puppet master, and your friends dance and die to your tune.” The darkness around him shimmered, growing heavier, thicker, attempting to overwhelm him, to drown him in its endless nothing.

 

“No,” he shook his head again, grasping his own courage, the courage long lent to him by his weapons, his friends, those he held most dear. There was an important truth he had come to, that Patti had helped him come to. His loved ones might leave him, in life and in death, but they would always be a part of him, pieces of his heart and soul, and that was his courage, that was a strength that would never, could never, die. “My friends make their own choices, always.” Another truth that Soul had helped him to see yesterday--they could leave the DWMA when they chose. Staying was also a choice; he was no puppetmaster.  

 

“Ah, so you would tell yourself. You love those you call friend--those who are among the strongest in all of Shibusen. And yet, it is part of a larger truth, one you will not see. Regard your soldiers as your children, and they will follow you into the deepest valleys; look on them as your own beloved sons, and they will stand by you even unto death. That deep wisdom was spoken long ago. Your father heeded it well, and you are your father’s son.”

 

“No,” he uttered a third negation, staring down the darkness. “No,” he repeated, voice firm. “I am my father’s son, but I have learned from his mistakes just as he would wish me to do. Perhaps, as Sun Tzu taught, Father looked upon all of Shibusen as his beloved sons, soldiers in the battle against chaos, me included, but I do not. They are not soldiers but esteemed colleagues--not my children but my cherished friends. I may lead them, but I am not above them--that is the lesson I learned from my father precisely because I am his son. That is my wisdom, my truth, my courage, and nothing can take that from me, not even you.”

 

Not even myself.

 

The darkness shimmered and broke around him, his deepest fears, his darkest nightmares, and he sat up to blink against the light of dawn, a sense of peace filling his soul as he awoke refreshed for the first time in nearly a year.

* * *

 

He breathed a sigh, half relief, half sorrow, with the realization that it was over.

 

Assignments had been issued and accepted, Spartoi had all officially graduated that morning, and the celebration/farewell party that had followed after was now winding down as Kid stood near the stage in the DWMA ballroom, admiring Liz's handiwork for perhaps the dozenth time that evening in having made everything look so tastefully symmetrical.

 

He realized suddenly and forcefully, as he thought of his first ball here and his father's dreadful speech, that were the earlier Reaper still alive, Kid himself would be among the graduates rather than the one handing them their diplomas.

 

In a way, it was his graduation, too, and he couldn't help but wonder if his father would be proud. He truly hoped he was.

 

For his part, he was proud of his friends, though it was a pride muted by the dull ache in his heart when he considered their imminent departure--for most of them would be departing, and soon.

 

His eyes drifted to the dance floor where several of the ones he cared for most had taken up temporary residence. His own weapons, Liz in a slinky red dress and Patti in something short, flirty, and blue, were dancing together to the slow jazz tune currently playing over the oversized skull shaped speakers, pressed playfully cheek to cheek and drawing admiring eyes from around the room. One such pair of eyes belonged to Kilik, who was dancing near the sisters with his own weapons, as yet too young to graduate, leaving him stationed at the Academy for the foreseeable future. Kid smiled to himself--they, at least, would be staying with him for the time being.

 

Shifting his gaze, he chuckled slightly as he noticed Black*Star spinning Tsubaki around far too quickly for the song. The Bushin's suit was actually on neatly for once, a Herculean task no doubt executed by his weapon, and said weapon looked stunning in long, slinky silver. Both would be off soon, stationed in Japan so Tsubaki could be close to her family, doing contract work for the DWMA as needed.

 

While Kid might look forward to the cessation of damage to his beloved Academy as well as the occasional challenge to assert who was the greater god, he would nonetheless miss the boundless energy paired with endless calm of the pair, and he felt a deep sense of melancholy creeping along the edges of his heart at the thought.

 

It was not an isolated feeling, as they weren't the only ones he would lose.

 

Ox and Harvar, standing near the punch bowl, were to be stationed at the Russian branch, along with Death Scythe, who was to take over operations there as Maka had suggested (the elder weapon was currently absent, having been knocked out by his daughter earlier that day upon expressing his distress that they were to be separated at all). Kim and Jackie, who were dancing together not far off from their male Spartoi counterparts, were being sent as permanent liaisons to the Witches Realm, where they would spearhead the new exchange program to be implemented next year. Kid hoped it would foster understanding and deeper cooperation among their kind--if Kim herself was any example, he suspected it just might. That didn't mean he wouldn't still miss them, even if the work they would do elsewhere was important.

 

One could not always be true to their own heart when the good of the world was held in the balance.

 

Then again, he thought, as his keen Reaper eyes moved to the open doors of the balcony and the couple dancing alone where they must have believed they would be spared prying eyes, sometimes people could be true to both.

 

Soul and Maka seemed to have managed it, in any case, elation radiating from both of their souls as Maka suddenly lifted her face to her weapon and kissed him soundly. For his part, the scythe returned the gesture with an eagerness the young Reaper would not have guessed he possessed, and Kid averted his gaze, feeling like he was intruding on something intensely private even as his heart swelled with happiness for his friends, who had, seemingly, finally figured out what everyone else had noticed long, long ago.

 

They deserved the happiness they would surely find together, for however long they found it--they all did.

 

"Hey," a voice pulled him from his thoughts as Liz approached, hip checking him lightly.

 

"Hey," he returned the greeting, the informality of it far less grating than it would have been even a year ago.

 

"You okay? You've been over here brooding for awhile."

 

"I'm fine, just thinking." He tore his gaze away from the dance floor to look at her.

 

"I'm going to miss them too, you know," she said softly, and he nodded and held out his arm.

 

"Care to send them off with a dance?" he asked suddenly, and she met his small smile with a grin of her own as she took the proffered arm.

 

"Yeah, I think I do," she said, and together, they made their way to the dance floor to join their friends.

 

Sure, Kid would miss them, his beloved friends, his chosen family, yet he had told the shadow of his fears the truth. The ones he loved were a part of him now, pieces of his very soul, and whatever might happen, now or in the future, they would always, always remain within his heart.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 


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